


5 Ways Sam Knew Emily and Dean Would Get Together

by river_soul



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 05:17:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1539089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/river_soul/pseuds/river_soul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For jazmin22!</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Ways Sam Knew Emily and Dean Would Get Together

**I.**  
  
She’s cooking jam when they enter. The kitchen is full of the sickly sweetness, sugar and strawberries with a hint of lime. Emily looks up, surprised but pleased by their presence. Sam hugs her tightly and she holds onto him longer then she should, her worry and fears clear across her young face when they pull away. “I’m glad you both are ok,” she says solemnly. Sam looks behind her to Missouri who’s watching them, eyes unreadable.  
  
“Did you see something?” He asks and hears Emily call out to Dean as the screen door snaps against the hinges behind him.  
  
“Maybe,” Missouri says with a vague wave of her hand. “Come on in,” she tells him, already headed for the living room. Sam turns before he leaves, just in time to watch his brother’s back grow ridged and uncomfortable when Emily reaches out for an awkward hug. It takes him a moment, eyes on Sam, who gives him a _come on_ look, before his hands are firm against her waist, fingers curling against the soft flesh of her hips.  
  
They stay frozen for a moment until Missouri’s voice comes from the living room, soft and teasing. “You better not burn that jam, girl,” she warns. Sam smiles when Emily jerks away from Dean and rushes to the stove. She makes a quiet, annoyed sound at the back of her throat, lips twisting into a grimace after a moment. “God damn it,” she whispers and Sam can smell sugar burning.  
  
When he looks up again Dean is watching her, face expressionless.  


\---

  
Sam finds them in laundry room. Dean’s pushed her up against the dryer, jean clad knee between her legs with a hand curled under the back of her knee. Emily’s legs are pale and slender with youth. Sam can see the muscles in her leg quiver when Dean drags his knuckles slowly across the sensitive skin under her thigh. She is watching him intently, little mouth open, breathing shallow as he pushes the hem of her dress higher. “Dean,” she whispers, mouth crinkled with worry. “Do you love me?” She asks. Sam can hear her youth in that simple question and high voice.  
  
She’s only 17.  
  
Dean seems to remember this too; his hand stills and Sam can see his jaw work for a moment before he pulls away slightly. There is hesitation, indecision in the movement of his hand as it hovers between her legs. For a split second Sam thinks his brother might just plunge ahead, heedlessly, as he’s done before but instead he sets her down on the floor, hands at his side.  
  
“Oh,” Emily says and looks at the floor, embarrassed and angry as she folds her arms across her chest protectively. Sam feels a slow burning anger curl in his gut at his brothers thoughtlessness. Emily isn’t some bar side whore, a women he doesn’t have to see again. She’s a girl, nearly ten years his junior who has looked at him with hope and desire since that day in the apple orchard.  
  
“Emily,” Dean says, clearing his throat in a manner Sam knows he hopes will buy him time.  
  
“You don’t have to say anything,” Emily says quickly, eyes bright and smile tight. Sam hates her for making this easy on Dean. “It was silly to ask,” she admits. Sam watches the way she pulls at the edge of her dress, the way she rubs her forearms where he touched her.  
  
“Look,” Dean starts, his brow drawing together curiously. “I’m not that kind of guy, I don’t know how…I’m just an asshole,” he says finally. Emily laughs, a quiet tinkering sound against the back of her hand. Her smile surprises Sam.  
  
“Yeah. Yeah you are,” she agrees but there is a softness in her voice, a vulnerability Sam doesn’t understand. “Missouri told me that the very first day you left me here,” Emily admits with a smile of remembrance. “She also says I should give you a chance.”  
  
Dean doesn’t know what to say. Sam can hear the house creak and shift against the warm sun overhead. Neither of them moves, but then in light of Dean’s stunned silence, mouth partially open in bewilderment, Emily leans in to kiss him. Her hand, pale and slender, curls hesitantly around his tanned neck as she draws herself up against him. Her kiss isn’t long or deep, but it’s firm, the air sliding between them wetly when she pulls away.  
  
Dean’s hands fist at his side and the line of his jaw trembles. The silence that falls is heavy and dense with Emily’s embarrassment and Dean’s questions. Sam knows he’s intruding but curiosity keeps him still. He has to know.  
  
“I need to finish canning the jam,” Emily says awkwardly, breaking the silence as she licks her lips. The way her eyes skirt over the laundry room, looking everywhere but Dean is the only sign of her uncertainty.  
  
“Ok,” Dean says. His voice sounds rough and uneven, and Sam watches the way his hand twitches when she walks past him. He feels oddly proud.  
  
Of both of them.  
  
  
 **II.**  
  
They’re in some small Tennessee town outside Nashville. Sam’s trying to make Dean's bail. The woman behind the counter is old and grandmotherly, weathered face eased by her smiles. She smells like roses and dried potpourri and when she listens sympathetically Sam feels less conscious of guilt. This isn’t his role.  
  
“I really appreciate this,” Sam says, smiling shyly, watching the older woman’s face crinkle with affection. She hands him Dean’s things, his wallet, the keys to the Impala and handful of other objects that he tries to juggle. He drops Dean’s wallet in the lobby by accident, a few things spilling out. He picks up a condom first and then a twenty before he pauses, hand hovering over the picture on the floor.  
  
It’s Emily.  
  
He remembers seeing this high school picture on Missouri’s mantle back in Lawrence the last time they visited. She looks older then Sam remembers in the picture, face plain and bare. Her smile is wide and open though, filled with honest happiness. It makes him think of Jess and the picture he’s tucked away in his wallet. The only one he has left.  
  
It’s wrinkled and worn, but he remembers the day it was taken. He can’t recall the name of the beach, but it was cold and rainy, pebbles slippery and damp under their bare feet. The wind left her pale and shaking, blonde hair plastered to her neck and face, but she was laughing, head thrown back in silent amusement in the picture.  
  
She died a week later.  
  
Sam swallows hard, tongue heavy and swollen in his mouth and he coughs, blinks to clear his eyes. He’s almost forgotten this phantom ache, the one that makes his chest feel empty but tight. He feels sick, overwhelmed until he sees Dean and hears his name.  
  
“Dude,” Dean says annoyed. “What took you so long?” He asks, throwing his hands in the air as Sam hurriedly tucks the picture back into Dean’s wallet.  
  
“Come on,” Sam says, ignoring his brother’s question. “We’re going.”  
  
“Where?” Dean asks.  
  
“Lawrence,” Sam says and remembers Jess’s laughter.  
  
  
  
 **III.**  
  
When they visit Emily a year after Father Jims death she’s living in his old house. It sits on the edge of the church’s property, forgotten and tucked away behind a grove of trees. The paint job is peeling away and the screen door hangs crookedly but someone has raked the leaves and planted flowers along the walkway. The inside of the house is immaculate, clean and bright but she isn’t there.  
  
They find her in the church nursery, a child cradled at her hip and another one clambering for her attention. She says something to the little girl, laugher jumping between them before she shoos the older child away, towards the other aid, a women who looks old enough to be Emily’s grandmother.  
  
When she looks up and sees them her smile disappears, eyes wide with worry. Sam wonders if they should have come.  
  
“Is everything ok?” she asks when they get her outside.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean says.  
  
“We just wanted to come check up on you,” Sam admits and is confused by the coolness he finds in her eyes.  
  
“I’m doing good,” she admits. “Your father?” she asks.  
  
“Dad’s good.”  
  
“We thought we’d stay for a few days,” Dean says and Sam smiles, hiding his surprise. His brother hadn’t even wanted to come in the first place.  
  
“Got a place to stay?” Emily asks and there is returning warmth in her voice but her gaze is even.  
  
“No.”  
  
“You can stay with me, maybe fix that screen door and my roof,” Emily says. “Go ahead and let yourselves in, the bedrooms on the second floor are open,” she tells them, handing Sam her keys. “We’re short in the nursery, so I have to stay. I’ll be done around 7.”  
  
“Thanks,” Dean says before they head back to the house, quiet in their thoughts.

\---

  
When Sam wakes from his nap hours later the house is empty. He finds Dean in the nursery with Emily. It’s quieter, darker as the evening is setting in and Sam can see there are only two babies left. Emily’s cradled one against her chest and the other one Dean has set out on the changing table.  
  
“What are you doing?” He hears Emily ask.  
  
“Changing a diaper.”  
  
“What?” Sam can hear the laughter in her voice. It makes him smile. Dean with a baby.  
  
“What? I have layers,” Dean protests when Emily leans in, watching him closely. Silence settles between them as he works, several minutes passing before he speaks again. “I used to help my dad with Sammy, when he was a baby, changing diapers and feeding. Stuff like that,” he admits.  
  
“Oh,” Emily says and stills beside him, something in her face softening. Sam watches Dean finish carefully, the baby gurgling happily in his arms. There’s so much he doesn’t know. “Dean-” Emily starts, voice cracking slightly.  
  
“Sam actually peed on me once,” Dean says hurriedly, making a face . “Do you have any idea how traumatizing that was for me? It was gross as hell,” Dean admits with laughter. Emily follows behind a moment later, the lines around her mouth curving gently, but Sam can see some hesitancy in her gaze.  
  
“I’ve missed you both, missed you,” she says suddenly, her words coming out rushed and uneven. Sam watches Dean open his mouth, draw a quick breath before the baby he’s holding gives an angry wail, face turning red as he fusses. Dean looks relieved but there is another emotion, one Sam doesn’t recognize that flickers across his face when he looks to Emily and the small child in her hands.  
  
“Uh,” Dean says uncertainly when the crying gets louder.  
  
“So,” Dean says with a cough, “I’ll trade you.”  
  
It makes Sam wonders what he would have said, what he was going to say.  
  
  
 **IV.**  
  
Two weeks before Christmas they stop in Driscoll, North Dakota to visit one of their father’s old friends, James, for advice. His wife, Daniela, is a tall, willowy woman who greets them with a smile and soft voice. She ushers them into the living room where her husband is. He smiles when he sees them and looks older then Sam remembers. He thinks of James, ten years Dean’s senior, young and brash with his father on the hunt.  
  
Things are different now. He has a home. A family. Things aren’t the same anymore for him, but Sam knows he still takes the odd job from time to time and helps out their father in times like these. They spend most of the night in his library, reading and searching for any sign of the demon they’re looking for.  
  
Sometime before dawn Sam falls asleep in the chair and wakes with a start, confused and disoriented until he sees Dean and James talking. “I’m going to get some coffee,” he says and turns to the kitchen, surprised to find James’s wife already awake, cradling her infant son. She smiles wearily but Sam sees the way her gaze lingers lovingly on the rise and fall of her son’s chest.  
  
“He has his day and night mixed up,” Daniela says softly as Sam reaches for the coffee. “His brother was the same way,” she says fondly, stroking the soft swell of the baby’s cheek. “You think you Winchester boys will ever settle down?” She asks Sam.  
  
“I don’t know,” Sam tells her truthfully. “It’s a bit early to tell,” he says and thinks of Jess. His throat tightens.  
  
“I suppose it is,” Daniela admits as Sam gathers up the coffee. “Good luck.”  
  
“Thanks.” He says in farewell and stops outside the library door, lets the pain and the memories ease by him. It’s been eight months. It still feels fresh and new but eventually Sam feels like he can breathe again and he reaches for the door handle but the conversation on the other side makes him stop.  
  
“You’re getting to that age Dean,” James is saying, voice low and gravely. “Where you need to make a choice. Either you end up like Daniel Elkins and live alone or you find someone and settled down.”  
  
“How did you know she was worth it?” Dean asks.  
  
“When I met Daniela I just knew,” he says with a shrug. “She understood what I did, didn’t try to dissuade me, was patient for a while, let me run all over with your father.” James smiles. “I won’t say I don’t miss this life because I do. I’d be out there in a heartbeat if I could but…when you get married…when you have a child Dean, your priories shift. Things become more important.”  
  
Sam can hear the rustling of clothes and pages turning. “Who is she?” James asks after a moment.  
  
“No one….Some girl we saved a year back. We like to keep an eye on her,” Dean admits with an ease that surprises Sam. It probably shouldn’t, James is as close to Dad as they’re going to get for a while. “Her name is Emily.”  
  
“Do you love her?”  
  
“I don’t even know her,” Dean says.  
  
“You love her.”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
“Is it enough?”  
  
“It could be.”  
  
  
 **V.**  
  
The first time he notices it they’re in some small Texas town near the border. The waitress at the diner is young and pretty, fair skinned and dark haired, exactly Dean’s type. When she speaks her voice is light and soft, words honey sweet and drawn out with patience. Sam watches her hands, the gentle brush of her fingers along Dean’s knuckles when she gives him his coffee, eyes bright and hopeful when he thanks her.  
  
Sam knows what comes next and doesn’t look surprised when she leaves their check on the table and leans in to asks “There anythin’ else I can get you boys?” without looking at him.  
  
“We’re good,” Dean says and doesn’t even glance at her once.  
  
When he looks up Sam is staring.  
  
“Dude, what?” Dean asks

\---

  
Dean stops in front of the screen door, breath caught in his throat at the sight of Emily. Her profile is open to him, feathered by the light of the warm kitchen. Her neck and face are flushed from the stove. Dean knows he should move, go inside because Sam is right behind him, keys to the Impala jingling in his hand but he doesn’t. It’s been months since he’s seen her, since they left her here. She looks different, lighter.  
  
The sundress she’s wearing is old and faded, sallow colors unflattering against her pale skin. It falls just below her knees and Dean follows the gentle slope of her calf to her bare feet, toenails painted a bright, horrible color that clashes with Missouri’s kitchen. She’s humming off tune, tapping out a rhythm with the wooden spoon against the counter and Dean can see the slightest sway in her hips while she stirs.  
  
“Dean,” Sam says from behind him and Emily turns at the sound of his voice, “What are you doing? Go inside.”  
  
“Dude,” Dean says and watches understanding dawn on Sam’s face. “Shut up,” he starts before his little brother gets the chance to say _anything._ “Shut up,” he whispers and realizes too late how much he’s already given away.

**Author's Note:**

> Posting some old fic from my livejournal!


End file.
